


Half of My Heart

by AccioAssButt



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccioAssButt/pseuds/AccioAssButt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane Watson transfers Universities, and ends up with a very interesting woman as her roommate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a genderbend fic I've been working on. I started working on it after RPing with my best friend as Sherlock and John/Jane. I hope you enjoy!

I had always been a bit boring, though I never saw it that way. I saw myself as normal--average, even. I was quite short for my age, and my long hair had always been too light and dull for my liking. But while I was ‘average’, I was quite sharp. I was no genius (by any standard) but I was smart enough to pursue a career in the medical field. I was studying to become a doctor.

So, that’s why I was here, standing outside of room 221 in the B sector of the dorms for the University. A student government member had pointed out that they’d had a great amount of trouble finding a particular student a roommate, so I had agreed. I could get along with most people.

I lifted my hand to knock, and nearly jumped out of my skin when a voice called from within. “It’s unlocked.”

Trying to situate myself, I opened the door to see a young woman standing on a chair as she tried to get a book from the top shelf of the bookcase. She had moderately short, curly, black hair, and a long angular face. She was quite tall (it made me wonder why she was standing on a chair to reach the top shelf), which was accentuated by her purple button-up and black, slim-fitting formal trousers.

When I looked at her face, I noticed that her cheek bones were very defined, and her lips were quite noticeable and unique. I felt myself flush slightly at the thought.

“Hello. I’m Jane Watson. What’s your--”

“Do you like the violin?” The woman asked, cutting me off.

“Excuse me?”

“I play the violin when I’m thinking,” she said, plopping back onto the floor, book in hand. “Sometimes I don’t talk for days on. Would that bother you?”

I blinked. “No, I don’t reckon so.”

“Any bad habits on your end?”

I thought for a moment. “I can be quite lazy at times, and I have a general dislike of rows and confrontations--as well as loud noises. I’m sure there’s others, but these are the ones I can think of at present.”

The woman smiled, and it reminded me of the Cheshire Cat. “Good.” She walked past me and into the hallway, leaving me confused. A moment later, she popped her head back in the door. “The name’s Sherlock Holmes.”


	2. Chapter 2

I spent my time sitting around in the common room in the dorm, watching the telly as I waited for Sherlock to return before I tried to find _my_ room. I wasn’t going to barge into Sherlock’s room in case there was something that she didn’t want me to see.

Finally, about two hours later, Sherlock returned, phone in hand. “Hello,” she said as she passed me.

“Um, I’m sorry, but...” I paused as Sherlock turned and looked up at me. “Um...which room is mine?”

“The one on the left,” she said simply before disappearing into her own room. Satisfied, I opened the door to my bedroom.

It was quite simple and dull, and I found myself somewhat glad that I had things to bring in, because I’d go mad if my room were this barren all the time.

I grabbed my bags from the common area and dragged them into my room, proceeding to put things away. I was in the middle of putting some clothes in my closet when Sherlock opened the bedroom door and stuck her head inside.

“Are you coming?”

I looked at her, confused. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Supper.”

I looked at my watch, and was surprised to see that it was getting close to five o’clock. I stood and brushed off my skirt before nodding and following Sherlock.

“Do you mind if I sit with you? I don’t know anyone else,” I asked Sherlock tentatively, hoping that she would say yes. I didn’t really want to sit alone on my first day.

Sherlock glanced down at me (I was amazed at our high differences) and nodded, leading me towards an empty table in a corner of the dining hall. I waited for her to make her way towards the line, but when she sat down instead, pulling out a book, I decided to go by myself.

When I got back, Sherlock was switching between looking around the dining hall, reading her book, and scribbling things in her book. I figured that she was probably taking notes; studying.

I ate quietly, not quite sure how to strike up a conversation. I was about to take a bite of my pasta when Sherlock spoke.

“Can I use your phone?”

I looked up, a little shocked from the random question. “What about yours?”

“I left it up in my room.”

Deciding that it was wise not to question her, I fished the phone out of my jacket pocket and handed it to her, our fingers brushing. She quickly typed something before handing it back to me with a small smile.

“Thanks.”

I nodded, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “So...what are you stud--”

She cut me off again. “Can you move over? You’re in my line of sight.”

I looked behind me, and noticed that from where Sherlock was sitting, she had a clear view of the entire dining hall. Sighing, I pushed my chair to the side a bit and saw Sherlock look back down at her book, so I took it that she was satisfied.

I glanced at my phone and decided to retire to my room for the evening. I wanted to finish unpacking before going to bed early. I had classes in the morning.

“Well, I’m heading back up,” I said as I stood. “You coming?”

“No,” Sherlock said simply, her gaze never leaving her book. Deciding not to question her further, I pushed in my chair and disposed of my garbage before returning to my quarters.

I was unpacked by eight o’clock, so I decided to sit and read a book on the sofa. It was close to nine before Sherlock returned. She gave me a small glance before heading straight into her room.

I yawned, and headed back to my own room, choosing a pair of pyjamas. I decided on a white t-shirt and a pair of black pyjama pants with kittens all over them. They’d been a present from my brother.

I climbed into bed, and somehow, I managed to fall asleep to the violin music coming from the next room.

It’s never very pleasant to transfer to another university. I’d transferred here because Harry was too close--always looking over my shoulder. Harry wouldn’t accept anything less than excellence, and I had had enough. I was doing this for me, not for her.

It took some time for me to find my classes, but over the first few weeks, I quickly familiarized myself with the science building.

Sherlock and I weren’t particularly close, but we got along. We always sat together in the dining hall, and we’d often sit in the common room together, Sherlock usually reading something while I watched telly.

Then one day, there was a shift in our relationship. I was walking towards my biology class when I saw that I’d gotten a text a few minutes back. I checked it.

 __

History building. Come quickly, if convenient. SH

I grimaced. I didn’t really have time. I had class in--

My phone beeped, and I had another message.

 __

If inconvenient, come anyway. SH

Shaking my head, I started trying to find Sherlock. I wasn’t very familiar with the history building, which made it difficult to find her. When I did find her, though, she was sitting in a computer lab, typing away. She didn’t even look up when I entered.

“What do you--”

“I need to use your phone.”

I stared at Sherlock in disbelief. “You called me all the way here--causing me to miss my biology class--just so that you could use my phone?” I asked, my voice slow and steady.

“Yes.”

I was about to give her a piece of my mind, but cut me off as I opened my mouth.

“Don’t pretend that you wanted to go. I saw how you shuffled your feet around this morning, taking as much time as you could before you had to leave. You were stalling, trying to hold off the inevitable.”

Unable to argue, I handed Sherlock my phone without a word, which she grabbed without ever shifting her gaze away from the computer. She quickly typed something, pressed send, and handed the phone back.

“We should go out for dinner tonight.”

I looked at Sherlock, shocked. “Huh?”

Sherlock glanced at me for a moment before turning back to the computer. “You’re sick of the food from the dining hall. I’ve seen how you pick at your food and shove it around on your plate. You barely eat what you get--usually sticking to simple strawberry jam on toast. So, while food only slows me down, you should eat something.”

And that’s how Sherlock ended up treating me to dinner at a cozy little Italian restaurant. She didn’t eat much, talking animatedly about some big crime that had happened several years ago involving a boy who drowned in a pool.

I smiled at her from across the table--Sherlock completely oblivious as she continued to talk about old crimes. Sitting there, I could tell that this was the start of a great friendship--the kind you only read about in books.


	3. Chapter 3

“Fuck!”

I dropped the ancient iron, grabbing my right hand with my left. I lifted my hand for a moment, hissing when I saw the red splotches on my skin. I had been ironing when some of the water came out of the iron, landing on my hand.

Sherlock strolled into the common room, looked around, and simply beckoned for me to sit down on the sofa as she left again. A moment later, she returned, a first aid kit in her hand. She kneeled down on the floor in front of me, taking my right hand in both of hers.

I hissed in pain and Sherlock lessened her grip.

“This is going to sting and be tender for a while,” she said, her eyes never leaving my hand. I almost told her that I know about burns, as I was studying medicine, but I thought better of it.

Sherlock pulled out some vitamin E and began to gently rub it across the burn, applying the lightest of pressure. Even though I knew that it was the vitamin E, it was almost as if Sherlock’s cool fingers were what was making the burn ache less, and I allowed my eyes to close as she finished applying the vitamin E and wrapped it with gauze.

“There,” Sherlock said, releasing my hand. “That should keep the burn from getting worse.” She stood, glancing down at me.

“Th-Thank you,” I said. I was shocked at how gentle Sherlock had been, and that thought made me feel guilty. Guilty that I had been so quick to judge Sherlock as being cold, when it was obvious that she could be gentle and caring.

Sherlock merely nodded her head in acknowledgement before heading back to her room, and I found myself staring at her door for a while.

 

I huffed in annoyance as I made my towards the women’s restroom on the bottom floor of the science building, where Sherlock had texted me from. She had apparently gotten into another fight.

It had been three months since I had transferred into the University, and Sherlock and I had grown quite close. People would still ask me how in the world I could put up with a sociopath like Sherlock, and I would simply chuckle and not respond. It was none of their business, anyway.

As our friendship progressed, I found out that Sherlock liked to fight--and she was good at it, too. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t get banged up from time to time. I would never forget the day I found out about the fighting.

 _I returned to the dorm after class, only to find Sherlock lying on the couch, holding a blood-drenched handkerchief to her forehead._

 _“What the bloody hell happened?” I exclaimed, immediately dropping my bag and rushing to crouch down at Sherlock’s side. “Show me.”_

 _Sherlock huffed, but moved the handkerchief, revealing a rather nasty looking gash on her forehead. She winced as I touched the wound, and I immediately drew my hand back._

 _“Come on,” I said, getting to my feet. “Let’s get you patched up.” I held my hand out to help Sherlock get up, which she took hesitantly. I led her to the bathroom, where I ordered her to sit down on the edge of the bath. I grabbed my medical kit from underneath the sink and opened it, pulling out a needle. “Unfortunately, this is going to need stitches.” I saw Sherlock grimace, but she did little else. “Why don’t you take off that shirt so that I can put it in the wash while I sterilize the needle?” The white button-up Sherlock was wearing has several splotches of blood on it, and after looking down, she started unbuttoning her shirt, throwing it to me. I nodded my head in thanks as I left the room with the needle and shirt, leaving Sherlock sitting on the edge of the bath in her pants and a sports bra._

 _When I returned--sterilized needle in hand--Sherlock looked utterly bored, a trickle of blood trailing down the side of her face from the gash. I grabbed a washcloth and ran it under cold water before starting to dab it around the gash._

 _Before long, Sherlock was all stitched up. After cutting the thread, I traced my fingers lightly over some of the bruises that covered Sherlock’s arms and torso. It always amazed me how someone could put themselves through physical trauma like this._

 _“I’m fine,” Sherlock said, shrugging away from my hands. I let them fall to my sides. “Thanks for patching me up, Jane.”_

Since that moment, Sherlock made it a routine to let me know every time she would get in a fight, and then I’d come patch her up. She’d figured out that I was a medical student a while back.

 _“You dress conservatively to an almost dramatic extent, as though telling yourself and any potential party-goers and romantic partners that you are here to study. A course that would require so much studying is either in the history or the science field, as those tend to require quite a few classes that have homework three times as much their worth in credit hours. You were disoriented when directed towards the typical history buildings meaning you had not taken many classes there, yet had a fairly good command of the science buildings. You also carry a first air kit. So, what major would command a need for someone to carry a first aid kit, an intimate knowledge of the ways in and out of the science buildings, but isn't chemically knowledgeable on a formulaic level? Biology is the obvious answer, with a focus on Medicine being the next best thing considering your interest in people.”_

 _After her long explanation, I could only stare at her--completely gobsmacked._

So here I was, walking towards the science building to patch Sherlock up. She had said that it was only a scratch, though, and wouldn’t require any stitches.

Sherlock was right--of course--and she was patched up quickly. We decided to eat out that day, returning to our dorm afterwards--where I subjected Sherlock to having to watch Doctor Who (Which I think she secretly enjoyed).

 

I woke up the next morning with a massive migraine. It felt like someone was drilling a hole through the side of my skull. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, though. Besides, I had an exam that day.

I quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a black sweater before leaving my bedroom. Sherlock wasn’t there. Thank God. I didn’t know why I was so relieved that she wasn’t there; it wasn’t like she cared whether or not I was feeling well.

Grabbing an aspirin from the medicine cupboard before slipping on my shoes and jacket, I headed to the dining hall for breakfast, grabbing my bag on my way out.

Sherlock wasn’t at her table, so I figured she must still be asleep. I grabbed my breakfast and sat down. I was unable to eat my food, though, for as soon as I smelled it, I felt my stomach churn with rolls of nausea. So, I slowly nibbled my way through a piece of bread before heading to the science building for my biology exam.

Though it was a somewhat big exam, it was fairly easy. My only problem was that I felt myself getting progressively worse. By the time my class was dismissed, they were no longer rolls of nausea, rather just a constant feeling. The lights were making my migraine worse, and the aspirin I’d taken earlier hadn’t helped at all.

Seeing as I had a few hours until my next class, I decided to head to the library. At least there wouldn’t be any loud sounds. I found a spot in the corner where there was no one else around, and sat down, laying my head down against the cold wood of the table. I closed my eyes and began to drift away when I heard the scraping of a chair being pulled out. I opened my eyes to see Sherlock sitting across from me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her. My voice sounded weak, even to my own ears.

“You weren’t at lunch,” she said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And I was told by Lestrade that you didn’t look well during biology this morning.”

Oh.

I shrugged my shoulders and instantly regretted it. I grimaced as my stomach churned and my head ached. “Yeah, not doing too well.”

“I can see that.” I glared weakly at Sherlock. Not in the state of mind to have a row, I put my head down again, closing my eyes as I tried to will my headache away.

Suddenly, there was a hand grabbing my arm, hoisting me gently from my chair. “Come on,” Sherlock said, grabbing my bag and pulling me towards the exit of the library. “I’ve already informed your teachers that you are not feeling well, and will not be in class today.”

I didn’t protest, only allowed Sherlock to drag me back to our dorm. When we got there, Sherlock ordered me to change into my pajamas and return to the living room when I was ready. I did as she instructed and changed before returning to the living room, where Sherlock directed me to the sofa. She retrieved a pillow and a blanket from somewhere (I didn’t pay attention) and she made sure I was relatively comfortable before she grabbed her coat.

“I’m going to go get something for your headache and nausea--” I didn’t question how she knew that those were the problems. “--along with some soup, or something. You’re running a fever. I’ll be back soon.” I just whimpered incoherently in response, already slipping into unconsciousness.

I don’t remember much else from that day--just that Sherlock took the time to take care of me. I wanted to punch myself in the face for believing that Sherlock didn’t care, when she so obviously did. She went out of her way for me. She knew I was a medical student, knew that I knew what to do; but she took care of me anyway, making me food and making sure I was healthy enough before she deemed me fit to return to my studies.

Something changed that day. I didn’t know what, exactly, but _something_. We were more open around each other; more comfortable. We would actually have long, in-depth conversations about various things, and we went out of our way to spend time together--even though I was swamped with coursework. Sherlock also helped me study, and didn’t seem to mind helping me understand complicated things.

Whatever changed, I liked it.

A lot.


End file.
